(Source: sweeetsarah, via thepastiswonderful)
(Source: weheartit.com, via the-fudgeinator)
awesome
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“If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.” — George Stroumboulopoulos
(via headshine)
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The crack of the night surrounds me through my overly pitched ear lobes and I turn to make sure they aren’t coming for me. Nothing and no one but Dusty Baker and his crew of hardheaded and hard drinking cowboy-type associates are here; they stand in the doorway swaying about, macho and masochistic looking yet hardly a threat to anyone but their own internal components. It reminded me of the evening in Waterloo where we had all doused ourselves in souse juice to the point where we cried at jokes and laughed at tragedies, hiding under the beds thinking that Waterloo was home to wolves and where they were we were unsure. It was a mess and a mystery and I lost a shoe and what a night. A privileged 13 hours it was and I wouldn’t change a thing.
Well, nothing relates to that night here really, except the eerie, wild, wishful feelings that come along with the throwing of body and mind into a blind evening of antics and kicks and now I realize I forgot who it was I didn’t want to come for me. Perhaps it was just the sun I was running from, if I move fast enough West at a constant speed it would be impossible for old dawn daybreak to reach these bones. I was content here though and did not want to move at those high speeds necessary to avoid my mugger of time and cheer. Dusty Baker was in an argument with himself and I wasn’t quite sure who was winning, it scared me at the thought of a stalemate, can you come to a tie in your mind? Would his associates take sides and vote for a winner only to be dismissed by his alter ego in the morning? It would have been quite the political party if I cared to pay attention for any longer, but I did not. My mating instincts had overridden my thoughts of Mr. Baker’s interpersonal conflicts when her perfume preceded her presence through the door and my nostrils fluttered at the sweet smell of pure innocence and temptation of what was about to walk in the door and kick me in gut. I still had not seen what I smelt but I knew by that smell of the trouble and terror that was inches on the other side of those door jams, I wished to run out and find a blindfold to cover my poor eyes so I could fall in love with her smell and visions were not needed, I had a wildly active imagination so why ruin a good thing? My mind was spinning with ideas and poems and suggestions I would give to her about us running away and eloping to Atlantic City, me with my blindfold and her laughing and giggling at the strange mate who scooped her off her feet after only seconds of meeting. We would raise our kids with the picket fences of years past, maybe she knew physics and would build us a time machine so we wouldn’t have to recreate and could play catch with the little ones and our dog Rover under that first ever fresh coat of paint. Yes and she can stay home and raise our kids after I fall in the door from a honest days work, bleeding and breathing with my blindfold dirty from the factory floor, saving pennies and whisking her away while the children stay with a neighbor and we can have a proper Vegas wedding and recite vows and fall in love all over again, oh that smell!
I’m back to reality a second later as I see the red traces of her frilled dress swish through the door and I scour the counter for my blindfold to keep my dream in its pristine state, diving for a rag, a paper, at last I thrust my hands over my eyes as she swaggers into my life and vision for the first time. I wait a minute and can’t control myself and peer through my fingers at my bride to be, I wonder what names she prefers for children? Oh I can’t believe if this doesn’t all go to plan how many pieces my heart will crumble too, I can’t stand the thought, how she has me trapped!! I catch a glance of Dusty Baker welcoming his woman with the sweet smell into the room by a large embrace and a kiss and she hasn’t even noticed this strange person who is me , hiding in his corner in plain view with hands over his face, bourbon and rum drink hooked into his elbow with a tear welling up at how my dreams have been stolen! How could Dusty do this to me?? Crushed as I am as I tend to get too involved with women (a little too involved, even before the hello) I set my drink down and shake my head and take my 30 second grieving process. I have lost her but such a great life we could have had, me with my visions, her with that scent. I guess it wasn’t meant to be. I sit down in my chair, forgiving Dusty for tearing my hopes away from me and wonder if she has a sister.
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